Another Fix Moment
by bluespiritgal
Summary: Just a short, "Fix", moment as Starsky watches Hutch struggle with his own self doubts and temptations. Hutch angst.


**Another "Fix" Moment**

It's been three weeks, three weeks since Forrester. Hutch is sitting at the kitchen table, the long fingers threaded through the blond, bowed head, tightly gripping the clumped strands, muscles bunched up, as I walk in and sit quietly down in the chair next to him. He won't look at me.

On the table a small white pack of powder sits. We both know what it is.

The long fingers look practically ready to rip the flaxen hair right out of his head. I reach up, take both hands in my own, pry them loose and draw them from their entanglement and onto the table between us. I wrap my fingers around his wrists and soon feel those long, shaky fingers curling around my forearms.

Between our linked arms the unopened packet of heroin lays.

I stare at it, angry that it still has the power to torment, to hurt the one person I love more than my own life.

"You must hate me..." the barely audible, strangled, agonized voice whispers from beneath the still bent head.

I squeeze those arms, give a little tug which forces the blue eyes to look up at me. In them I can see the hurt, the self disgust and loathing, but mostly I see his fear. It kills me, breaks my heart. He looks so lost and he can't quite keep the tremble from his lips as he forces his eyes up to meet mine, searching for the disgust, the disappointment he is so sure will be there. I shake my head sadly. I can read him so easily. He's so scared, so afraid of loosing me, of loosing us, of loosing himself.

"I took it off the junkie we busted today, stuffed it in my pocket when you weren't looking," he mumbles out the confession.

"I know," I tell him softly.

He flinches like I struck him. He swallows hard, the head drops lower.

He tries to withdraw from me, but I won't let him. I hold on. Then I do the only thing I can think of when Hutch is beating himself up one side and down the other with guilt. I chuckle at him.

The head comes up, the pale eyes darken, slightly indignant. "What's so funny?"

"You are," I say. "Are you done kicking yourself down now?"

Angry, he looks away. "It's no good, Starsk. You can't trust me anymore!"

"Can't I?" I tug at him, forcing him to look back at me. I can feel those long fingers digging into me with both want and need, at the moment a lifeline.

My voice softens. I know how much he's hurting. I know how much his own doubts are eating away at him. But I also know too the one thing he hasn't yet figured out.

"What sits on the table between us?" I asked.

"You know what it is!" my partner, my best friend spats back.

"Yeah, but do you?" I counter, locking my eyes to his.

"W-hat do you mean?"

"How long you been sitting here Hutch, staring at it, eight, ten hours? And it's still there...You wonder why?"

He looks up at me like a boy lost, the long fingers digging into my flesh as he shakes his head. His face flushes with guilt. "You don't know how many times, Starsk, how many times I wanted to, almost given in."

"But you didn't."

I read the struggle and his haunted pain, the exhaustion.

"It's still there, unopened. Why do you suppose that's so, Blondie?"

I see the pale eyes glimmering, the battle warring within him as the fingers cling to me. I let him hang on and keep my eyes locked on his.

I don't have any long speeches for him, any pat words that will make all the hurt and the craving go away. I wish I did. I don't have any words at all, except for the ones screaming from my heart, the ones that silently communicate what exists between us, and makes me love this man and trust him with all my heart and soul.

It takes a few minutes but I finally see the eyes connecting to the silent bond which flows between us, the bond that gives strength and comfort to the other when needed, when hurt, never judging, never being judge, only accepting, trusting, believing, loving.

_**I **_know why he can't open that packet or give into it, and when I see he finally understands too and believes, do I nod quietly.

His face cracks a wobbly sheepish little shy smile. A Hutch smile I love so much.

"Me and thee," he finally says.

I grin back, my eyes never wavering from his. "Glad you finally figured that out, babe."

I reach up and cup the back of his neck, slide my fingers into the silky rumpled hair, of my best friend, my other half. "That's all you've got to remember, Blintz. That's all you'll _ever_ need to keep you from sliding back."

"Starsk...I..." he chokes out, tears filling his eyes.

I shake my head. "Just me and thee, babe," I repeat, squeezing his neck, giving him my strength, my trust, giving him everything I have in me.

He nods in understanding, in the gravity of my words and in the deep bond of our friendship.

His whole body shudders one last time, but it's a shudder no longer born in fear, but in hope, in belief, in acceptance. He smiles back, grateful. "Always, buddy. Always."


End file.
